


Part of the Charm

by wednesday



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Enemies to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-10-27 04:45:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17760026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesday/pseuds/wednesday
Summary: Alistair has a bad morning and keeps running into the cause of it. Zevran has a frustrating time in Ferelden.





	Part of the Charm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [infernal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/infernal/gifts).



Alistair first met the elf in the woods, right before dawn.

His watch was nearing its end and he was wandering under the trees at the far edge of the camp. With the sun about to rise there was enough light for Alistair to look for more fallen branches for the fire. He was also trying to escape the rain, but standing under the trees only helped a little. Or worse, the trees rained down bucketfuls of water on his head if he accidentally bumped into a branch too hard. Everything he found was completely drenched because of of the heavy rain, so he sighed and turned back towards camp. At least he got to wake everyone up and make them share the miserable weather.

A flash of movement made him look to the side, and a moment later he barely jumped out of the path of a blade.

Alistair might have been alone in the woods, but he was never careless enough to come out here without his sword. The only thing he could really tell about his attacker was that he was an elf, and that elf was so fast Alistair had to put all his attention to blocking his strikes. For a minute it seemed they were evenly matched, but then Alistair managed to knock one of the elf’s knives out of his hand. After that, it didn’t take very long until he did the same to the other blade as well.

As soon as both knives were on the ground, Alistair took three steps back, safely out of range, and kept his sword pointed at the elf. Maybe he wasn’t as clever as Morrigan, but he knew something of fighting styles – this was the kind that came with poisons and hidden blades.

Now that Alistair had the chance to look at the elf, he was even more surprised to have been attacked by him. He was tall and quite well-built for an elf, handsome, and surprisingly well-groomed to be in the woods in the middle of nowhere in particular. Or rather, he looked like he might have been well-groomed before walking through several hours of heavy rainfall. He wore armour without sleeves and with a kind of a skirt, like Leliana wore, and Alistair suspected she was cold even on regular, rain-less days.

“Are you not going to kill me, then?” the elf asked, after Alistair had been silent for too long. He had a strange accent that Alistair didn’t recognize. The elf spread his arms in a kind of inviting gesture.

“I don’t even know who you _are_ ,” Alistair said. He probably should have killed him, but everything about the situation made him uneasy. Despite what certain parties might think of him, he didn’t like not knowing what was going on.

“Ah, how rude of me! Zevran Arainai, at your service,” the elf said, and it was probably meant to sound cheerful, but Alistair thought he both looked and sounded like a drowned cat.

“Alistair,” he said in turn, and winced a moment later. With all the people after their heads, maybe he shouldn’t be giving his name to every stranger that attacked him in the woods.

“The Warden, yes? I would not wish to kill the wrong man. Though I did expect there to be two of you.”

“You couldn’t even take _me_.” Not that Alistair couldn’t tell he was a very good fighter, but winning against Alistair and the Warden both? He couldn’t possibly think that could have happened.

Alistair’s words made the elf perk up for some reason. He looked Alistair over with a considering look, as if looking for weaknesses. Was he really going to try, what, fighting Alistair bare handed? Against a sword?

“Do you _want_ to die?”

“Well, that is a very personal question to be asking someone you just met, no?” He was frowning again, though his eyes were still on Alistair’s shoulders. There was nothing wrong with his posture, he knew. It still made him roll his shoulders selfconsciously and raise the point of his sword half an inch.

“You attacked me! Out of nowhere!” Alistair could tell he might have sounded a bit too outraged, considering it wasn’t the first time he’d been attacked on the road, but he thought he was allowed. It was much too early in the morning for all of this – for everything. What was wrong with this elf?

“Should I have announced myself? Brought you a dog, perhaps? I find myself sadly not well versed in Ferelden customs for the assassins.”

“A – dog? What? Wait, _assassins_?” Alistair stepped closer; finally, they were getting somewhere.

It was a mistake.

The elf threw some kind of powder at his face, and Alistair fell backwards trying to avoid it and landed hard on the ground. He got back up as fast as the wet, slippery grass allowed, but the elf was long gone. One of the knives was gone as well. Alistair picked up the one that was left, not that the elf – Zevran? - could have retrieved it easily, since Alistair had fallen right on top of it. Whatever the powder was, it made Alistair’s eyes water.

So, assassins.

By the time Alistair got back to camp, he had begun to sense a group of darkspawn nearby, so naturally alerting the others became his first priority. By the time everyone was tending to their wounds and cleaning darkspawn blood from their swords, the elf had slipped Alistair’s mind. So he never told the others about his strange pre-dawn meeting.

***

Alistair was jolted out of the beginnings of a Warden dream by a weight settling across his hips. He opened his eyes and, disoriented by the darkness, didn’t react fast enough to stop his unknown attacker from restraining his hands above his head. Alistair felt someone’s armour brush against his own bare chest.

“Ah, and here I have you at my mercy, my friend,” said a vaguely familiar voice, much too close for comfort.

“What-- Zevran?” Alistair asked, voice still sleep rough and definitely not higher than usual. He’d only heard that accent once before.

“You remember me! I am, of course, very memorable, but you flatter me still,” said Zevran, sounding suspiciously cheerful for someone intruding on Alistair’s sleep in the middle of the night. Alistair’s sight was slowly clearing, the longer he was awake, and he could see a vague outline of Zevran’s blond hair in the darkness.

“What are you doing here?” Alistair asked, and remembered only a moment later that the last time they’d met, Zevran had tried to kill him. This was very bad. He should have woken up the moment someone tried to enter his tent; he never slept heavily enough to miss something like that.

“I have a contract I must fulfill, you understand.” He sounded halfway between regretful and amused. It made Alistair angry. It was a low blow to take amusement in murdering someone.

The feeling of strands of hair brushing against the side of Alistair’s face distracted him for a few moments. When the last cobwebs of sleep dissolved from his mind, he realized two things: Zevran was using both his hands to hold Alistair down, and thus had no weapon in hand, and he was holding Alistair’s wrists at an angle entirely wrong for pinning someone.

With a twist of his hand and a sharp push with his knee Alistair dislodged Zevran and rolled over fast enough to pin him down in return. Zevran tried his hands and couldn’t move or free them, because Alistair had made sure his hold was _not_ at the wrong angle. Clearly Zevran was worse at hand-to-hand than at blade work.

“It seems you have me at your mercy,” Zevran conceded, breathless. Alistair must have pushed against his ribs too hard, but he couldn’t find it in himself to feel very guilty about it.

“How did you get here? What did you do to, uh, the woman on watch?” He thought it was Leliana’s watch, at least. He had no idea what time it was, in truth.

“Fear not, your friend is quite well,” said Zevran, and Alistair felt him try to find leverage with his feet, so he pressed down harder on his hips.

“She better be,” Alistair warned, and hoped he sounded at least somewhat dangerous.

“Ah, so, what shall you do to me now, helpless and in your bed?” Zevran sounded teasing, and Alistair squinted his eyes just in case of another handful of suspicious dust. He couldn’t get up and get help, because the moment he let go he would probably get stabbed. He’d have to shout for the Warden. He really didn’t feel like explaining how he’d forgotten to mention an assassin being after their heads. He felt so stupid – he should have known that wouldn’t be the end of it.

“Ravish me, perhaps?” Zevran asked helpfully.

“What? No!”

“You are not?” Zevran sounded surprised; what kind of man did he take Alistair for? Wait, was that what _Zevran_ had been going to--

“No! Of course not! I’m going to wake up the others and you’re going to tell us who sent you.” That was a reasonable plan, not - what Zevran had asked. Alistair tried to figure out how to lean back a bit without giving Zevran a chance to escape.

“This is not at all going how I planned,” Zevran said, and he sounded - put out? Alistair was firmly back to being confused and slightly horrified.

He drew a deep breath to call for whoever he could wake up, felt Zevran’s legs wrap around his waist, and the next thing he knew was pain. He couldn’t breathe for several long moments, and only when the pain started to recede did he realize he’d been punched in the middle of the chest. He thought he heard a disappointed sigh, but by the time he was able to breathe somewhat normally and got up, Zevran was gone, again.

Alistair got out of his tent and found Oghren dozing by the fire. Of course. As quietly as he could he checked all the other tents to make sure everyone was still alive and well. He left Morrigan’s alone, because he didn’t want to be turned into a toad.

He found nothing out of the ordinary, but he was too alarmed to sleep any more that night, so he got dressed and sat by the fire until Oghren woke up and roused everyone else. It gave him time to figure out how to explain Zevran to the others. It wasn’t enough time, though, because by the time the Warden called for them to get a move on, Alistair still hadn’t thought of anything.

***

The Warden was set on resolving his differences with a pair of angry looking dwarves by having a drinking competition with them. Leliana was amused and Oghren only cheered them on, so Alistair escaped before someone tried to rope him into it as well. Oghren had already convinced him to have a drink earlier in the evening, and Alistair thoroughly regretted it. He was sure he wouldn’t be able to taste anything for days.

The Pearl was starting to get too crowded, and the others seemed set to stay for a while. Alistair escaped the crowd and ducked outside through a side door probably not meant for customers.

The moon was bright enough that Alistair could see his own shadow on the muddy ground of the side alley. He sat down on a crate near the door, closed his eyes and simply breathed the cool night air for a minute.

When he opened his eyes, Zevran was standing before him, barely a step between them.

Alistair had been expecting to see him again, but he was still startled by Zevran’s silent arrival.

He’d realized after their last encounter that Zevran must be better at the whole assassin trade than Alistair had first thought. He could have escaped Alistair’s hold from the start, easily, or stabbed him before he truly woke up. Only, it didn’t make sense that he had let Alistair live.

“You’ve been following us,” Alistair said, and didn’t bother going for his sword. It seemed rather pointless to fight half-drunk against someone that could match him when Alistair was sober. This would be a good moment for the others to come rushing out of the Pearl and interrupt, so of course they did no such thing.

“You are sharp as well as handsome, my friend! Indeed, I have.” Zevran smiled and Alistair could only now appreciate how tired he must have been that first morning - he was radiant now. Gone were the grey circles under his eyes and the dullness of his hair. Instead his skin and hair were glowing in the light of the moon. The black lines on the side of his face only made him look more bewitching.

“I see the lovely creatures of this establishment have not managed to lure you into their arms,” said Zevran, “Perhaps I shall lure you into mine, yes?”

“Why?” Alistair asked, doubtful. It sounded like a strange attempt at confusing him, and he was rather tired of words already after the last few days.

“Am I… am I not saying it right? I do not think this has happened to me before.” Zevran was frowning and waving his hands heatedly as he spoke. He sounded incredulous and almost as confused as Alistair himself. “I shall tempt you into my bed, perhaps? Surely my meaning is clear.”

“You--” _Oh_. “But you - want to assassinate me?” His voice got very close to breaking by the end of the sentence. Alistair was pretty sure there was assassination involved in Zevran’s plans. But also, uh, wooing?

Except he was looking at Alistair as a wolf looking at prey, so not wooing so much as, uh, lampposts. Maker, why couldn’t he get the lamppost conversation out of his head?

“Surely talk of business can be left for later, yes?” Zevran asked, smiling again now that Alistair understood what was going on. Mostly understood. He could really do with some more explaining, but he wasn’t going to ask. It already felt like he was on uneven footing here.

Zevran took half a step forward until their knees touched and then leaned even closer, that bright, pointy smile still on his face. Alistair tried to think of something to say. It felt like a moment where he should speak.

“Uh, I’m not, I don’t think we should- Not that you’re not-” Alistair waved his hand in the direction of Zevran’s, uh, everything. He wasn’t blind, but there were _so_ many reasons he should not. “I just don’t, ah, get tempted into beds. That.” Alistair winced; his voice definitely broke at the end there.

Really a perfect time for the Warden to barge in. Or for lightning to strike Alistair. Maker, he could feel the heat in his face. He should have tried to deflect with a joke, but nothing came readily to mind.

“And still you are so charming,” Zevran said, his smile not as bright as before, but somehow warmer. “How about a kiss, then?”

That seemed like a trick question to Alistair. He’d definitely like to kiss someone as beautiful as Zevran before the archdemon killed them all. Would they go back to the whole assassination business after, though? Alistair didn’t think he’d like having to fight someone he’d kissed.

On the other hand, what if Alistair said no? He might have to fight Zevran anyway, so maybe he should get that kiss beforehand. Just to give himself more time to sober up for the fight. Yes.

Alistair nodded slowly, and watched Zevran’s smile widen.

”Perhaps it shall be so passionate I will change your mind, hmm?” With that Zevran closed the remaining distance between them and pressed his lips to Alistair’s before he could protest.

It wasn’t like Alistair had imagined at all.

Zevran’s lips felt soft and slow at first, and then hard and scorching. Alistair didn’t know what to do with his hands; after a long moment of just sort of hovering, he lightly set them on the sides of Zevran’s face. After another moment of hesitation he slid the tips of his fingers into Zevran’s silky hair. Zevran was standing, so Alistair had to tilt his head up, and somehow he couldn’t stop focusing on that detail among all the other new sensations.

Then Zevran gripped the back of Alistair’s neck, tilted his head to the side and licked along the seam of Alistair’s lips. He tried to copy the move, and suddenly the kiss changed again, became wet and open-mouthed.

That was, wow, amazing, and Alistair tried to lean up a bit more to get even closer. Zevran, having the same thought, fisted his hand in Alistair’s shirt and in one swift move straddled Alistair’s thighs.

Okay, maybe Alistair could change his mind a little. Slightly.

Alistair felt lightheaded from the feeling of Zevran in his lap, and also because he wasn’t entirely clear on how people remembered to keep breathing while getting kissed. He felt Zevran’s hand slide down to his waist. A moment later he shivered at the feather-light caress where Zevran managed to find a way under Alistair’s shirt.

Then, between one moment and the next, they were tumbling down from the crate and falling down behind it. Alistair felt his shoulder hit the cobblestones and broke the kiss with a pained sound.

“That was-” Alistair said and cast around for a way to finish the sentence. “Too passionate for me?” Zevran looked down at him, still straddling Alistair by some miracle. Alistair couldn’t read his expression, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t a happy one. “I mean, the falling on the cobblestones - I don’t think I can just do it with someone I don’t really know that well. We should leave the stone related injuries for much later.”

Zevran kept looking at Alistair in silence, his blonde hair keeping the rest of the world out like a golden curtain.

“I’m not saying there’s any complaints from me, on the rest of it, oh no. Because there aren’t. Any complaints. None.” He was sure he saw the corner of Zevran’s mouth twitch, and the faint crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes get deeper.

Zevran kissed him again, only for a moment.

“You have made this night very enjoyable, my friend,” Zevran said. He got up so swiftly Alistair had no chance of stopping him. “Unfortunately I must attend to other matters now.” He turned to leave and - threw a dagger at the end of the alley? It happened so fast Alistair was sure he’d imagined it. When Alistair tried to sit up, Zevran turned back and pressed down on the center of Alistair’s chest with the toe of his boot.

”Stay.” His voice was so unexpectedly sharp and commanding that Alistair immediately fell back down on the ground. Zevran looked at him for a long moment, and with a silent nod disappeared into the shadows of the alley.

Alistair spent several more minutes laying on the ground behind the crate and rethinking his choices.

When he sat up again, Leliana appeared through the same door Alistair had used earlier.

“Alistair? Are you – all right?” She sounded genuinely concerned.

“Oh, yes. You know, just sitting here, enjoying this city mud we’ve been missing while camping in the wilds. You should try it,” he said as he finally got up from the ground.

“Well. I’ve had quite enough of Denerim muck for the night, I think. I was looking for you to ask if you want to head back to the inn,” Leliana said and looked him over. “There’s dirt on your shoulder.”

“Oh?” He tried to brush it off, but almost immediately gave it up as a lost cause. “Yes, I’m ready to leave.”

“Let’s go then, Oghren can find his own way back.” Leliana started walking towards the end of the alley. “You don’t have to humor him when he tries to get you drunk, you know.”

Alistair looked back at the crate once more. There were two crossbow bolts lodged into the wall right where Alistair had been sitting. Right where he and Zevran would have been, if they hadn’t fallen.

“Alistair?”

“What?” He turned and saw Leliana standing at the end of the alley and looking at him quizzically. “Oh, yes, I know. I’m definitely never drinking that brew again, whatever it was. Let’s go, I’m more tired than I realized.”

***

The walk back to the inn sobered Alistair enough to let him start thinking a little bit more clearly. He kept wondering who the bolts were meant for, and who of the many people wanting him dead might have made an attempt tonight.

As luck would have it, no one ambushed him and Leliana. If she found his worried glances towards windows and rooftops strange, she kept it to herself. After a brief exchange of good-nights Alistair was finally alone in his room.

After washing up he inspected the damage to his shoulder; it was red in a way that meant he’d have an impressive bruise the next day, but nothing more dangerous than that. He’d have to remember to keep his shield bashes easier on his shoulder for a few days.

A noise from the window startled him. He looked over just in time to see Zevran tumble into the room. Alistair stepped closer to help, but Zevran straightened himself without assistance.

“Not as graceful an entrance as I had hoped for, I admit,” Zevran said and smiled at Alistair. He looked like he’d just performed some excellent trick and expected Alistair to congratulate him.

“You’re here.” Alistair, master of stating the obvious.

“I had hoped to continue our earlier discussion, let us say.” Zevran stepped closer and put his hand firmly on Alistair’s bare chest. It was really hard to think suddenly, even if the pointy smile on Zevran’s face worried Alistair.

“Discussion about cobblestones?” Alistair asked and took a step back. Zevran followed and made Alistair’s efforts to put some distance between them futile. “Because, ah, you should know I don’t really do that. With people I don’t know well, or anyone, really. No falling on the cobblestones.” Maker, that was worse than the lampposts. Alistair’s face must have been as red as the streaks on Zevran’s sleeve.

Wait.

“Is that blood?” Alistair asked before Zevran could make sense of his earlier rambling. “Are you injured?”

“Worry not, it is but a trifle. Nothing that shall inconvenience us, I assure you,” Zevran said with a leer and a dismissive wave that revealed another red patch on his sleeve.

“Take off your shirt,” Alistair said, and turned towards his pack. The salve Wynne had made for him would do little for his bruised shoulder, but it should be of use to Zevran.

“I thought you would never ask!” Zevran seemed delighted, and it took Alistair a moment to realize why. He silently cursed his pale skin for flushing so easily. When Zevran was bare from the waist up, Alistair pushed him to sit on the only chair in the room.

“Perhaps a bed might suit us better?” Zevran asked, puzzled.

“I’m going to bandage your arm,” Alistair said and set down the salve and bandages down. Zevran frowned and opened his mouth, but seemed to decide against saying whatever he had been about to say.

On Zevran’s upper arm there was a shallow slash, not very bad, but still bleeding freely. From a sword maybe? But the angle made Alistair think it was more likely to be from a knife.

“So, who stabbed you?” Alistair asked as he spread the healing salve over the wound. “The same someone that shot at us?”

“Stabbed? Must you slander me so?” Zevran clutched at his chest in exaggerated outrage. “It was merely a graze.”

“If you say so. So who _grazed_ you?”

Zevran watched him, faintly amused expression on his face, and didn’t answer, so Alistair kept binding the wound. It didn’t take long until he was done; he leaned back against the wall, crossed his arms in front of his chest and waited for Zevran to say something. After a few silent moments it occurred to him that maybe he wasn’t supposed to have helped Zevran. Before he could overthink it, Zevran broke the silence.

“It seems I was taking too long to complete my current contract, and the Crows decided to speed things up, so to say.” Zevran sounded dismissive, but something in his expression looked more strained than usual. Alistair didn’t know who the Crows were - the people Zevran was working for?

“Oh.” Did that mean he was here to--

“But enough about that, let us speak of more pleasant things,” Zevran said, and got up. Alistair realized his mistake, when Zevran closed the distance between them, and he had nowhere to retreat.

This close Zevran had to look up at him, which seemed strange, suddenly. Somehow he managed to do it without tilting his head up; he gazed up at Alistair through his eyelashes, and his expression was dangerous again. Zevran’s lashes fluttered and brushed his skin when he blinked, and Alistair couldn’t look away. His gaze was drawn once again to the black lines trailing down the side of Zevran’s face.

He was distracted enough that the kiss surprised him. Zevran’s lips on his once again made Alistair’s thoughts grind to a halt.

It started slow, but this time Zevran didn’t wait long to turn the kiss wet and deep. Alistair couldn’t stop the muffled whine from escaping when Zevran bit his lip lightly. Zevran was fast to repeat the move, many times.

Several minutes later Zevran broke the kiss. Alistair was breathless, and relieved to see that Zevran definitely looked affected as well - his face was flushed and his breath was unsteady, as well. Alistair’s hands were on Zevran’s waist, and he had no idea when he’d placed them there.

“Allow me to change your mind, yes?” Zevran asked, once again looking up through his lashes. Alistair was powerless to do anything but nod in agreement.

***

Alistair woke slowly, feeling warm and comfortable. He was almost ready to open his eyes, when the door to his room swung open and hit the wall with a bang.

“Alistair, get up, we need to get going before--” The Warden’s voice cut off abruptly, and Alistair tried to sit up, to see what the matter was. He was stopped by a hand across his chest.

Oh. Zevran was still here. It made Alistair smile widely.

“Uh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had company,” the Warden said, and when Alistair finally looked at him, his eyes were pointedly turned away from the bed. Alistair could have sworn he was even blushing.

“There is no need for that,” Zevran said, his voice still rough with sleep, yet somehow as cheerful as usual. “You have not interrupted us.”

“But now that you are here,” Zevran started, and the Warden, who had taken a couple of steps back towards the door, stopped. He looked at them, and then immediately rose his eyes to a point somewhere above their heads. “I must confess that Alistair has thoroughly bewitched me with his many charms.”

“That’s, er, very nice,” the Warden said awkwardly.

“And so I have of course decided to give up my efforts to assassinate you. Instead I shall join you on your noble quest.” That. Wow, that was not what Alistair had expected. He suspected he would be wearing this stupid smile until even Morrigan ran out of ways to make fun of it.

“Assassinate me?” the Warden looked questioningly at Zevran and then at Alistair.

Uh-oh.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to Isis and araydre for beta-ing this for me!
> 
> I considered titling this "Zevran's attempts at getting laid in Ferelden", but it seemed too spoilery.


End file.
